Capítulo 946: Arsenal’s Departnts.
After dropping Olivia off, the next course of action for Izan was to head back to North London.
And a while later, Izan pulled into Colney just as the light finished settling over the training ground.
It wasn’t particularly early, but most of the players didn’t co until after an hour or so.
The car park was mostly empty at this hour, with only a few staff cars scattered across the lot.
He stepped out of the Gera, the morning air cool against his skin, and headed through the building.
A few early staff mbers were already moving around with coffee cups and tablets in hand.
“Morning,” he said as he passed them, giving a small nod to each.
The greetings ca back easily, warm but still carrying that early-morning sluggishness.
He made his way toward Arteta’s office and knocked lightly on the doorfra before pushing it open.
Arteta was already at his desk, flipping through a set of notes.
He looked up with a knowing expression.
“How were your two days?” he asked, emphasising the two in a way that made Izan huff out a short laugh.
“Honestly,” Izan said, leaning against the door with only his head and shoulders inside the room, “at tis like this, an injury sounds nice.”
Arteta’s eyes widened as he shook his head.
“God forbid. Don’t say that.”
“I’m kidding,” Izan said, though the tired smirk on his face made it clear he half-ant it. “I’ll go to the gym.”
Arteta nodded. “Go on then. Shake the rust off.”
Izan dipped his head and pulled the door shut behind him before heading down the hall.
The facility was still quiet, echoing slightly with the hum of ventilation as he walked.
Just as he stepped into the gym, his phone buzzed.
Komi’s na flashed across the screen.
“Where’s Miko’s leash?” she asked the mont he answered.
“In the—”
“Found it,” she said before he could finish, and the line clicked off.
Izan stared at his phone for a second, snorted softly, then tucked it into the bag by his side as he settled on one of the benches in the gym.
He slipped off his slides and swapped them for his adidas trainers, tying them without much thought.
One of the player trainers on duty greeted him with a nod, and Izan returned it before stepping onto a treadmill.
The machine whirred to life beneath him.
He kept a steady pace, letting his mind fall into the rhythm while the room remained quiet except for chanical hums.
A few minutes later, he turned up the pace steadily, until it looked like he could fly off the treadmill at any mont, with the trainer even standing by his side and hoping he could do sothing to break the fall, but it never happened as Izan kept up and then began slowing down.
“I would have recomnded you for the English sprint team if you weren’t playing football,” the trainer said as they finished, causing Izan to laugh.
“I am Spanish,” Izan said, but the trainer shrugged.
“Wouldn’t be the first ti England stole sothing valuable,” he said, as Izan’s mouth widened, before he broke out into a fit of laughter.
After that bit, he moved on to dumbbells, then to resistance bands, working through a light circuit.
Sweat started to bead along his forehead, and by the ti he reached for a towel, he heard footsteps entering behind him.
Timber walked in first, stretching his arms out as he approached.
A couple of the other defenders followed, chatting among themselves.
Timber spotted Izan imdiately.
“You trying to join us back here?” he asked.
“After everything you already do for the club? Leave sothing for the rest of us.”
The others cracked up, and even Izan couldn’t hold back a laugh.
“Relax,” Izan said, grabbing a sip of water. “I’m not taking your job.”
“Good,” Timber replied, dropping onto a mat. “I like my position the way it is.”
More players trickled in, the gym slowly filling with energy.
The early quiet dissolved into a low buzz of conversation, equipnt clinking, and the occasional joking complaint from soone starting their reps.
Izan rolled his shoulders once, set his headphones aside, and eased back into his routine, the room coming fully alive around him.
…..
The cafeteria was already half full by the ti Izan walked in.
Jokes flew about, coupled with the usual mix of pre-session chat and then the most recent transfer, with so wondering when the player in question would arrive.
After greeting a few of his fellow players he hadn’t seen in the gym, he went towards the food area, taking whatever didn’t seem like it would get him hungry halfway through the session, and that consisted of Rice, eggs and so fruit.
And then he made his way over to a relatively empty table, setting his tray down before he began eating, listening to the conversation on the other table near him more than he focused on his food.
And then halfway through breakfast, the noise in the room died down a bit as heads turned toward the entrance.
There, Arteta had walked in, speaking quietly to soone beside him.
It took a second for the boys to recognise who it was, but once they did, a ripple of whispers moved across the tables.
Eze, who followed Arteta by the side while seemingly being engaged in whatever the coach was spouting.
A few players stood to greet him as he made his way through the room.
A couple offered quick handshakes or subtle nods of welco.
It was going smoothly.
Then it got to Izan’s turn, but rather, it seed Saka had been waiting for this mont.
Everyone could tell because he was sitting up straighter than usual, trying hard not to smile, and the dia team was conveniently hovering nearby with their caras ready.
When Eze stepped into range, hand out for a shake with Izan, Saka tapped his phone.
A second later, boss’s music blasted out through the small speaker by his side, loud enough for half the room to hear it.
Eze froze for half a second before bursting into laughter as the entire squad followed imdiately.
Izan too bent forward, covering his face as he doubled over.
“Welco, bro,” Saka said through his own laughter.
“Tradition. Had to.”
Eze shook his head, still smiling as the two finally shook hands.
“If this is day one,” he said, “I should probably prepare myself.”
“You should,” Izan managed, finally looking up. “This is normal behaviour here. Daily. Sotis hourly.”
Arteta waited it out, though he couldn’t hide the faint smile tugging at his mouth.
When the room finally settled, he clapped his hands once.
“Alright. Get yourselves familiar with him,” he said.
“Talk, make sure he settles quickly. Training on the grass at twelve. That gives you an hour and a half. Eat well, recover, and be ready.”
So players nodded while others were already turning back to their food.
Eze, on the other hand, got pulled into a small circle of seats, mostly consisting of the English boys he was familiar with.
A while later, on the training pitch, Arteta waited until they were fully settled.
His hands were tucked behind his back, gaze sharp but calm.
He looked at the group in front of him as more and more joined until he seed satisfied.
“Alright,” he started. “This is where the season actually begins for us.”
“We all know what last season ant,” Arteta said.
“What we achieved, what we overca, what we fought for. Expectations will be higher now. From the club, from the fans, from the world, but especially from ourselves.”
He let his eyes move across the squad, stopping briefly on the new signings, then the core group that had carried the team through the previous campaign.
“We brought in new quality. You’ve seen that already. But new quality only matters if we gel quickly. Chemistry, trust, understanding. Those things decide gas just as much as talent. So we need to get our things in order from today onward. Everything clean, everything sharp.”
“Our first match is in two days,” Arteta reminded them.
“Man United. Away. Big ga, big energy, straightforward challenge. They might be arse,” Arteta said, causing his boys to laugh, “but those boys can put in a shift when it matters, so we can’t let our guard down.”
“This next hour,” Arteta continued, “is where we set the tone. How we train today tells everything I need to know about how we’ll walk out on Sunday. So be focused. Be responsible. And help each other settle. The season is long, and we’re going to need everyone switched on.”
He clapped once, firm and clear.
“Get ready. Warm-up in two minutes.”
The circle broke apart quickly as the players began heading towards their respective “departntal” coaches, as Arteta had called out, naly the midfield departnt, the goalkeeping departnt, the defensive departnt and then the attacking departnt.
“Izan,” Arteta said suddenly as the aforentioned turned to face him.
“Choose where you want to go.”
Izan nodded once and then made his way over to the midfielders, or better known, the midfield departnt.
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